A Follower's Fault
by Rae An
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots in which the shortcomings, pitfalls, and facepalm-worthy moments of the notorious Skyrim follower are discussed with a hint of hilarity. Rated T for language and some other nice things. A few more chapters to come.
1. Aela the Ailing

**Author's Note**: I've just started playing this game, but even in this short amount of time I've found myself constantly laughing or groaning at the characters that are allowed to be "followers." I just had to express my frustration in this short series of silly little stories.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I actually had this first experience during gameplay. Why won't Aela get in the carriage? This is what I think the problem is...

* * *

I stumbled into the beaming sunlight. I could feel its heat refrying the burns on my arms. Aela and I had slaughtered the last of the mages in the ruins. We had been singed, crisped, and frozen all in search of the small object I now held in my hand. It was formed of rounded wood, and leather was stretched over the top like a drum. A strange red symbol was stamped on its face.

"This better be it," I heaved, annoyed by the useless result of our efforts.

"Yes," the red-head gasped, bent with hands on her knees. "That pretty much matches the description in Skjor's journal."

She straightened, rolling her shoulders and adjusting her revealing armor around her chest. I always wondered how she managed never to fall out of it. If only we all could be as endowed as she.

I turned from the huntress and began navigating through the crumbling stone walls and out of the now-abandoned fort. I had picked up a few new pieces of armor and valuables during our escapade and was feeling quite over encumbered. At my slowed speed I knew it would take us days to make our way back to Jorrvaskr. As Aela followed me down the sloped pathway I decided to change our route. We began trekking through the rocky wilderness dotted with patches of snow and hardy plants towards Windhelm. It was in the opposite direction of Whiterun, but I had made the decision to hire a carriage back to our destination. The swift carriage ride would more than compensate for the time spent on our short detour.

We encountered a few wolves and bear along the way, and of course the huntress eagerly jumped to kill the animals; I barely had time to prepare a soul trap spell before they were dead. She laughed in victory while I sighed in dismay.

Finally the bridge leading to Windhelm loomed into view. Before it sprawled a set of open stables and a few horses. I spied Ulundil pitching hay into one of the stalls. I enjoyed speaking with the cheerful little Altmer whenever I visited Windhelm; he was the closest thing to another wood elf that I had so far met in this frosty country.

I stepped up to the rickety, wooden carriage parked before the stables. I felt Aela clumsily bump into my backside as she mindlessly followed me too closely to stop as abruptly as I did. I shot her a glare over my shoulder as I pushed myself away from the carriage side that she had pressed me against.

"Well, well," the carriage driver gushed. His face was grimy but clean-shaven and his long-sleeved tunic was spattered with dust.

"Two pretty little women out traveling the country side together. All alone, eh?" He winked mischievously.

I huffed as I rolled my eyes.

"Look," I began, "we just want a ride down to Whiterun."

"Mm," the driver hummed thoughtfully. "Twenty gold."

I dropped a sack jingling with coins into his outstretched hand and walked to the open back of the carriage.

"Hop in back, and we'll be off," the driver called, not bothering to turn his head.

Struggling to hoist the weight of all my supplies I pulled myself into the carriage. But Aela didn't follow me up.

"I... I can't go," Aela stuttered, avoiding contact with my eyes.

"Why not?" I questioned, crinkling my face in honest confusion.

The huntress faltered and murmured.

"This… there's a…," she haltingly began.

Suddenly she looked up from her calculated speculation.

"I left one of my potions back at the ruin!" she blurted frantically.

I sighed.

"How… Aela," I offered as I dug in one of my bags, "just take one of mine. I've got plenty."

Her face registered panic.

"Well, it… That one was very rare," she hurriedly growled. "It… was an invisibility elixir."

"Actually, I think I have one in here," I triumphed as I pulled the white bottle from my satchel. "Here, take it so we can get back to Whiterun already." I offered the vial down to Aela who still waited on the ground.

"I haven't got all day!" yelled the driver from the front.

"Just give us a minute!" I shouted back, my arm still outstretched to the huntress.

I saw in Aela's expression that she had been cornered, and her lie, exposed.

"Aela," I began as I retracted my arm and replaced the potion, my patience shortening, "just climb up so we can return to Whiterun _before_ the dawn of the fifth era."

"Taryn, you can go on ahead with the carriage," Aela started. "I think I'll just return by foot and meet you back in the Underforge," she said jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

"No, we aren't splitting up," I chided shortly. "Now why won't you simply get in the carriage?"

The tall woman shifted nervously and watched the ground.

"I…" She mumbled something indiscernible.

"What?" I questioned as I moved and sat on the edge of the carriage dangling my feet and leaning closer to the murmuring Nord.

She put a hand behind my head and pulled me close as she breathed in my tapered ear.

"I get really bad carriage-sickness," she hissed quickly and pulled away, searching my face for a reaction.

I couldn't help it. I giggled like a child.

"Stop it," she ordered angrily, her face registering both hurt and indignation.

"I'm sorry," I snorted. I took on a mocking tone. "Aela, the mighty huntress, revered member of the Circle of the Companions, brutally defeated in a bloody death match by the powerful and vicious… horse-drawn carriage!"

Aela raised a threatening fist. I quickly put an end to the banter.

Hearing the giggling and shouting the carriage-driver bellowed, "If you don't mind, you two lovers can finish your coquetry on the journey!"

"We're almost ready!" I shouted.

"And we're not lovers!" I added with a growl.

I turned to Aela, who stood at eye-level with me now that I was sitting in the floor of the carriage. Her angry gray eyes peered from beneath the streaks of green across her face. She huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

"I won't get on that contraption," she scoffed decisively.

"Aela," I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. "You're acting like a child. It's not that bad. Just get in, and you'll be fine."

"No," she snarled. "It _is_ that bad, and I _won't_ be fine. I know. I've tried it before."

"But it's worth it this time," I pleaded as I reached out and gripped her folded arms. "It'll take us a week at least to make it back on foot. With all these supplies I'm moving slower than a horker after feeding!"

"Taryn," Aela attempted again, throwing her hands to her curving hips, "I don't think you understand the amount of embarrassment and loss of dignity involved here."

I paused, calming my rising temper.

"Aela," I began slowly, "do you remember my first Change? My first night with the gift?"

"I do."

I laughed a little as I continued, "I ran all over the wilderness and finally ended up miles from Whiterun."

Now it was Aela's turn to smile.

"You gave us quite the time," she grinned.

I put on my best pensive expression, furrowing my sharp brows and pursing my thin lips, and said, "I remember I was stumbling in circles like a drunken sailor, naked as a newborn baby when I came to. And then _you_ stepped out from the trees. Remember that?"

"How could I _ever_ forget?" Aela smirked promiscuously and raised an inviting eyebrow as she leaned forward and put her hands on the carriage floor on either side of my legs, her chest gently brushing mine as her lips waited dangerously close.

I ignored her seductive advances and stared expressionlessly into her face.

"_That_ was embarrassing," I stated flatly. "Now get in the carriage."


	2. Cosnach the Drunkard

**Author's Note**: Sometimes your followers don't do exactly what you want them to do...

* * *

I pulled my helmet from my head and ran a hand through my shoulder-length, raven hair. The braids holding it back at the front where coming loose, and any strand touching my forehead or neck was dripping with sweat. Suddenly I wondered how far beneath the surface we were.

Cosnach and I had been searching for something called Rahgot in the depths of this ancient burial tomb for hours, hacking through draugr and dodging around traps. We both had sustained injuries.

Now we stood before a single wooden door. Behind it lay three powerful draugr that I knew we wouldn't have a chance of defeating if they attacked together. My hope was to bottleneck them through the doorway and light the oil spilled over the cobblestone floor in the narrow passageway to injure them as much as possible before they reached us.

I turned to my follower who was wandering aimlessly along the nearby walls as we had halted.

"Cosnach," I addressed the blond man, "I need you to do something."

He turned to face me, his nose flustered by its constant redness. The light bouncing from the fiery torches on the walls played along the fleshy curves of his muscled arms as his chest and abdomen gleamed visibly under his fur armor. I had tried to give him armor with a bit more coverage, at least just for this one exploit, but the drunk wouldn't accept anything other than his familiar fur covering, which scarcely concealed his torso.

"What is it?" Cosnach rumbled, lumbering closer to me. His head raised about its own height over mine, so as he towered over me I was forced to raise my chin to meet his eyes.

"Stand here," I said gesturing to a point on the ground.

He swayed to the position at which I pointed.

"Is that it?" he questioned with a shrug.

"You need to wait there," I explained, "until the draugr that will come through that door as soon as I open it are either dead or escape the fire that I will start. See the oil on the floor?" I pointed at the shimmering liquid.

"Yeah," he answered pensively, his thick skull doing its best to comprehend my idea.

"It's flammable, so when I light it, it will burn very hot and very fast. Stay back from it until it dies down," I ordered. "I can't have you dying on me."

"Oh, the stoic elf _does_ have feelings," Cosnach scoffed with a smirk.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it _that_," I cautioned. I could detect the bitter-sweet odor of alcohol on his body. There was almost never a time when the man didn't have a bottle clenched in his fist.

"You know, Taryn," he began lazily, taking a sloppy step towards me, "for a skittish, cat-eyed, little elf you aren't half-bad."

"What do you mean?" I raised in eyebrow incredulously.

"I just mean it's nice to be pinned with a Bosmer who can handle herself in a fight," he stated, arms extended in explanation.

"And you aren't too bad to look at either," he made another clumsy advance towards me. He swayed just before me, my armored chest brushing his bare one. He reached an arm for my waist, but I gripped his hand and replaced it by his side.

"Let's finish this conversation once we're _outside_ of the haunted burial tomb," I breathed. I couldn't afford to give him any reason to believe I was interested.

"Right," he mumbled in annoyance, stepping back to his position.

"Now I'm going to open this door. So stay back and remember your orders," I reminded the Breton.

Cosnach planted his feet and drew the enchanted elven mace I had given him. When I had told him I needed to give him something he had seemed a bit upset by the prospect of carrying _my_ supplies on _his_ person. But when I had told him to use it himself, his mood had brightened greatly.

I replaced my helmet on my head, and as I stepped up to the heavy door, I prepared a flame spell in my left hand, enjoying the tingle of the magic in my palm. I pushed the door inwards and quickly jumped back behind the start of the pool of oil a few feet back from the doorway.

First I heard the familiar crumble of dry rocks and plaster, and I saw three sets of legs swing slowly from their resting positions in the tombs in the walls of the high-ceilinged room. Then the draugr began hissing and gasping as they chanted the ancient dragon language.

The first sinewy undead lumbered towards the door, sword poised above its head. As it neared the door, the two others followed close behind, and I began spraying the flames at the ground. I had timed my actions so that the oil would light as the draugr stepped into the shallow pool at the opposite end of me.

For a moment after my fire licked over the surface of the oil, nothing happened. In this moment I heard "You won't get the best of me!" shouted from the man behind me, and he darted out into the oil to confront the oncoming draugr. When he stepped into the liquid, the corridor thundered and shook as the ground erupted violently into flame.

"Damn it, Cosnach!" I shouted over the roar of the fire. I couldn't get near the fire until it had fallen from the original crest of heat at its start. It would quickly kill me, and I would be of no assistance to Cosnach dead.

The inferno raged as Cosnach swung at the draugr, the fur on his armor crumbling in the heat. As he bellowed in pain I saw the first draugr fall. As another undead approached, Cosnach fell to the ground, gasping and heaving on hands and knees. By then the blaze had subsided into quiet flames roiling near the ground. I leapt into the fire, my flame spell having been exchanged for a healing spell, and shot the light in my hand at Cosnach. The tendrils of glow encircled him, and his body beamed with an aura as his health was replenished.

I rolled quickly to the side of the monster swinging an axe over my head and swiftly made a thrust through its chest with the sword in my right hand. I stood as a barrier between Cosnach and the final approaching draugr. As it swung down heavily with its cumbersome war hammer, I took a small step back and the head of the weapon smashed into the stones where I had stood. I pulled my armored knee into the draugr's face and drove my sword down through its back.

I stood, heaving and heard only the crackle of the tiny tendrils of fire swirling at the ground. I turned on Cosnach who had pushed himself from the floor and shakily stood next to me.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I breathed, trying to keep my temper in check.

"I… it was coming so quickly," he moaned.

"Well, you almost died!" I shouted. "I shouldn't have even brought you along. I'm the one who's been keeping _you _alive this whole time!"

"Look," he began hesitantly, "I'm sorry, Taryn. It won't happen again."

"It damned well better not!" I yelled at the Breton, my height suddenly seeming to have grown with my anger during the confrontation. "Just _try_ to do what I say. You'll live longer."

I heaved with a deep breath, turning my back to Cosnach, and walked through the doorway into the next room. I saw on the floor the outline of a huge circle, filling almost the entire room. As I suspected when I looked to the high ceiling, spikes protruded down over the circle. It was an ancient Nord trap, designed to impale anyone who walked over the circle. I knew that if I walked on top of it the circle would shoot up, and I would be killed by the shafts in the ceiling.

"Cosnach, follow in my footsteps exactly," I ordered to the man behind me. "This is a dangerous trap."

I began skirting around the edge of the room, hugging the mossy walls.

Suddenly there was a deep rumble of heavy stone and the grumbling of the ancient mechanism as it activated. I heard the crush of rocks and a man's cry of pain high above me.

I put a hand to my downturned face and sighed.


	3. Lydia the Jealous and Farkas the Clumsy

**Author's Note**: I like the idea that Lydia is allowed to have a personality, even be it a jealous one.

* * *

Breezehome stood invitingly off the flagstone street in Whiterun; its open windows towered over the pathway. Sometimes I wished I could have just retired from the life I lived and spent my days perusing the markets of Whiterun and my nights resting quietly in Breezehome. But this wasn't an option for the little wood elf whose "destiny" chose otherwise.

Even now I was preparing to travel to Dustman's Cairn with Farkas, a member of the Companions. He told me that in this cave was a fragment of the Companion's prized possession-in-pieces, Wuuthrad. I didn't understand the significance of the thing, but if retrieving it insured me a position among the ranks of the Companions, I was willing.

But before we left, I needed a sword from Breezehome. If we would be fighting draugr, this silver weapon might prove invaluable.

I pushed open the door and invited Farkas in.

"Lydia!" I called. "It's just me!" I knew she was in the house somewhere.

Meanwhile Farkas gaped at the display of the interior. But because the house was stuffed with chairs and tables and shelves, there wasn't much room for a man Farkas' size to freely move. He turned around in his place and knocked a small table which sat against a wall. The blue and white bowl placed atop it tumbled to the floor and smashed into pieces.

For a moment Farkas didn't say anything as he stared at the shards on the floorboards.

"Uh," he muttered. "Sorry."

I laughed a little. I had actually done the same thing many times; this was just the first time that the pottery actually shattered.

"Don't worry about it," I said with a smile and began walking up the stairs to the second floor, gesturing for Farkas to follow. As he stepped up, his eyes were fixed on the dwarven sword mounted on the wall at the head of the flight. While I went into the main bedroom to retrieve my sword, Farkas waited out on the walkway drooling like a child over the weapon display.

I knelt by the chest where I stored my weapons not in use and opened the lid after unlocking the latch.

"Just you, eh?" a woman's voice taunted from behind me.

It was so unexpected that I twitched, dropping the heavy, wooden lid of the chest down on my hand resting on its edge. I kept my mouth shut, groaning in pain. I was surprised to see that my fingers were still attached.

"Damn it, Lydia!" I shouted. "Don't do that!"

I turned and saw the woman sitting at the table in the corner of my room. It was nestled just to the right of the door and was easy to bypass without a second look.

"What?" she questioned knowingly. "Be here?"

We had lived together long enough that she had gotten over adding "my Thane" to the end of every sentence. Actually we began to treat each other more like friends than Thane and housecarl.

I searched the dim light for her face. A solitary candle sat at the table with her, casting shadows around her slitted eyes, round lips, delicate cheeks. It glinted off her hair, like mine, dark tresses brushing her shoulders. This wasn't the first time that I had considered it a shame that such a beautiful woman was sworn into a life of servitude to another woman, with no opportunity for sharing her beauty with a man in marriage. And regardless of the legal nature of Lydia's position there were doubtless rumors floating around Whiterun concerning the exotic Thane and her lovely housecarl sharing the house on the corner.

"Don't startle me like that," I breathed through gritted teeth, pain still pulsing through my hand. I turned back to the chest and opened it for a second time to retrieve what I had needed.

While I rummaged through the chest, I asked the woman over my shoulder, "I'm headed out. You want to come?"

As I said this there was a thud behind me, and then the floor shook with a few heavy steps. I faced the disturbance to see that Farkas had tripped over the slight step into the room and stumbled through the door to keep from falling to his face.

Lydia lifted a skeptical eyebrow, crossing her arms, and huffed disdainfully, "Looks like you're already got someone with you."

I pulled my sword from the chest and stood, rolling my eyes at Lydia's immaturity.

"Farkas, this is Lydia, my housecarl," I said laying a hand on Farkas' arm and knowing that referring to Lydia as "mine" would upset her. "And, Lydia, this is Farkas, a respected member of the Companions of Jorrvaskr." A much more impressive title.

Farkas nodded to Lydia. She gave no response.

"Well, you two go on and enjoy your time together," Lydia purred lifting the corner of her lips promiscuously.

"Lydia, you know this is strictly an assignment. Nothing more," I chided. "And there's no reason you can't come along, too."

"I'm not sure I want to be a part of this… relationship," she huffed.

In my embarrassment I hoped Farkas would ignore every word that spilled from her mouth. He wasn't speaking which meant he either didn't vehemently disagree with her, as I did, or was simply too oblivious to pay her any attention.

"Lydia, this jealousy is so petty. We could always use your help," I sighed. I knew this cut her. Even in the dim light I saw the tinge of red at her cheeks.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, _my Thane_," she mocked. "I'd much rather be _here_ sitting quietly alone than out seeing the world. But as housecarl it is my duty to protect you. And I'm questioning this man's ability to do so." She glanced skeptically at the hulking Farkas.

"Lydia," I chastised. "Show a little respect. He's a guest in _my_ house."

"It's either me or _him_," she stated cruelly.

"He's coming," I concluded angrily. "Actually I'm the one following him."

"Then it's settled," Lydia smirked, nose in the air, "I'll be here, at home, waiting for you when you decide that I suit your needs, _my Thane_."

I scoffed and waved a hand of dismissal in her direction. Gesturing for Farkas to follow me, I stepped out of the room and down the stairs.

Once we were outside, I stopped and turned to Farkas after closing the door to the house.

"I'm so sorry about Lydia, brother," I sighed apologetically. "She can be a little… selfish."

As I spoke to him, he studied my face with his dark eyes. When he wasn't thoughtlessly staring into space, Farkas could be very intimidating.

"No, it's fine," Farkas rumbled. I breathed in relief.

"I would have said the same thing," he added.


	4. Mjoll the Chatterer

**Author's Note**: This chapter's a bit more fluffy. Anyways, I'm sure that if you've traveled with Mjoll for any amount of time you'll understand where this is coming from...

* * *

"My mother was a strong woman… She's the one who instructed me on my sword fighting techniques. Can you imagine?"

At first Mjoll's stories were intriguing. Most people in Skyrim never talked about their pasts. And it was nice to have a companion a bit more willing to chat during the lonely nights spent in the wilderness. But now I had heard almost every story she told more than three times each.

"Yeah, Mjoll," I sighed. "You've told me all about your mother before."

"Oh, I have?" Mjoll questioned innocently as we followed the sparsely paved road through the woods.

"Yes," I said flatly.

"Many times actually," I added with a mutter as I turned my face away from her.

"What?" she asked, leaning out to see my expression.

"Nothing," I hurriedly replied, looking up into her face. "I think we'll stop in Ivarstead tonight. We can rest a bit and finally get some warm food and beds at Vilemyr's Inn."

"That does sound nice," Mjoll speculated. "There was a year when I went out hunting for _weeks_ at a time. Nothing but cold, hard ground and cold, hard food…"

I silently tolerated her story for the rest of our trek into Ivarstead. The small town consisted of only a few buildings and a mill, but the only one I was concerned with was Vilemyr's. The thought of a bed stuffed with straw and covered with animal skins that would prohibit any frozen numbness of the extremities had played with my mind since the moment I mentioned it.

I stepped up to the wooden deck before the door and pushed into the inn. The heat from inside floated around me and seeped into my frigid limbs and frosty cheeks. There was a group of men sitting at one of the tables lining the walls and a few scattered around the fire. A young woman in the corner picked at a lute while another, older woman swept across the floor with a straw broom. I sighed as I made my way past the large fire pit in the center of the high-ceilinged building to the back where a bar stood. A man, the innkeeper, leaning behind it washed a tankard.

"Well, two adventurers from out of town, eh?" the bald-headed man called, looking up from his work and noticing our garb as I approached him.

"Indeed, sir," I answered politely; I had learned that it was best to feign a smile and make friends than to display honest emotions and make enemies.

"I have a job for you if you want it," he offered with a shrug.

I heard Mjoll begin talking to me again about the first time her father taught her how to shoot a bow.

I leaned across the counter in attempt to evade Mjoll's jabber.

"What's the problem?" I asked over the chattering woman behind me.

"Seems to be a band of—"

"And then I drew the bow so far that—"

I suddenly turned on the Nord woman behind me.

"Mjoll, please!" I pleaded, my patience waning. "I'm trying to have a conversation that could potentially lead to some good coin, and your mouth is still running like mountain hare in hunting season!"

"Oh, of course. So sorry," she answered brightly, jerking her head in a single, apologetic nod. She obviously didn't understand the severity of her improper behavior.

"I'm sorry," I addressed the innkeeper. "What were you saying?"

"The Jarl of Riften's sent out a bounty for the leader of a group of bandits in Broken Helm Hollow," he began, propping on the counter an arm extending the notice. "I've got a copy here. Yours if you want it."

"Thank you for the information..."

"Wilhelm," he supplied his name for me.

"We'll look into it," I said.

"It sounds quite interesting," Mjoll began. "Reminds me of a time when—"

I quickly cut her off.

"We need two beds for the night," I interrupted.

The man pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized. "But for the first time in years we're almost full. The only thing left is a room with a single bed."

I rubbed a hand across my mouth, considering the options.

"We'll take it and make some sort of arrangement," I replied handing Wilhelm the proper amount of coin after he told me the cost.

Mjoll and I stayed up a bit, drunk a little, ate a lot. As the night drew on, the men got louder and bolder. A few times Wilhelm had to break up a fight. A few times he had to pull a drunken man off of the young bard who quietly endured her job. Once he had to tend to a drunk who had toppled into the fire pit.

After many of the men had headed home or to their rooms, and we had sufficiently stuffed ourselves—thankfully getting food into her mouth had been more important to Mjoll than getting words out of it—we retired to our rented room and shut the door.

I helped Mjoll from her heavy armor, and in return she unlatched the metal around my chest and back and lifted it over my head. We each donned a pair of comfortable trousers and a rough tunic.

As we finished dressing, I asked, "What'll be our sleeping arrangements?"

"I say, let's just get right in together," Mjoll offered. "I know you don't want to sleep on the floor, and honestly I don't either. It'll be much warmer anyways."

I scrutinized the tiny bed. There was barely enough room for one person to sleep comfortably, much less two grown women.

"Alright," I resigned. "I guess that's our best option. You want the wall?"

"I'll take it," she said, climbing into the bed with her back pressed to the same wall against which the bed stood.

I got in after her and turned on my side to face the rest of the room, my backside now fitting into her thighs and torso. The woman was much taller than I; her legs reached past mine as I nestled against them, and her chin rested at the top of my head. Mjoll draped one arm over my waist and slipped the other under my neck, hanging it limply over the edge of the bed.

Mjoll was right in saying that this was warmer than sleeping alone. As I pulled the bearskin over our bodies, our heat was trapped under it and began accumulating quickly. With the comfort of warmth and the pressure of another body against mine I soon began dropping into sleep.

Suddenly there was a quiet mumble near my pointed ear. I felt Mjoll's breath rustle through my hair and her lips tickle my scalp as she spoke.

"Should've seen me… height of adventuring career… was fearless… too many risks… that's what it's all about," she muttered.

So she told stories even in sleep. Annoyed, I lifted an elbow to jab into her stomach.

But with a second thought I rested it back down on her arm at my waist. I soon fell contentedly asleep to Mjoll's sleepy, murmured tales.


	5. Vilkas the Wolf and Calder the Choleric

**Author's Note**: Sorry it's been so long on the update. I wasn't expecting anyone to really read these and was going to cut them off with Mjoll. But since a few of you seem to like these shorts I guess I'll do my best to keep them coming.

* * *

**Author's Note**: This was one of the strangest bits of dialogue between two NPCs I have ever heard in the game, so let me know if it has ever happened to any of you. I simply moved an item in my house after it fell off a shelf, and this is what happened...

* * *

As I pushed through the Solitude city gate, I realized that it had been a long time since I had seen my husband. That is, I hadn't seen him in four days. But even so I felt a flutter in my chest at the thought of reunion with my mate.

I had left Vilkas back at Hjierm while I went out to take care of a few loose ends for the Dark Brotherhood. It wouldn't have done to have my husband crouching by my side as I slit the throats of ex-millers and beggars. We had just moved to Solitude from Whiterun, so I left the city with high hopes that Vilkas would manage to get along with Calder, the housecarl, without my supervision.

When I finally stood before the door of the mansion, I was feeling very unclean. It had been too long since I had tended to my delicate ears—dirt and grime had begun to collect in the recesses of their tapered points. Blood and dust was caked under my nails. My raven hair desperately needed a wash. And although I had tucked the sullied black and red assassin's raiment safely into my bag, my skin still reeked with the smell of dead bodies.

Thankfully Vilkas and Calder had left the door unlocked—there was no need for the usual five minute sift through my extensive key collection. As I opened the door my sensitive nose detected a simmering stew—beef stew. Until we were married, I was unaware of Vilkas's skill in the kitchen, and every time I returned from an outing to a hot meal, I appreciated it more. Drawn by the smell of the food I turned into the kitchen. I spotted the pot over the fire and reached a finger towards it for a taste. But before it entered the stew, I saw the dust nestled in the creases of my hand and the red crusted at my fingernails. I thought better of dipping such a monstrosity into a community meal, and pulled my hand away. Cleaning first, feeding second. Fight dirty, eat clean—that's our little household rule. Well, mine anyways.

I began the trek up the stairs—usually a simple task, but now that my limbs ached and my body was tired, it took every ounce of energy to drag myself to the top. Neither Calder nor Vilkas were downstairs, so they were either out or upstairs. Vilkas was most likely not out in the city. He had yet to warm up to the people in Solitude—especially their "Skyrim-for-the-Nords" mindset. Being married to a Bosmer, he could be quite defensive when it came to the subject of Skyrim's inhabitants. Thankfully he possesses a bit of wit and so doesn't make a fool of himself as some do in heated arguments.

When I made it to the head of the stairs, I leaned heavily against the wall for a moment. I heard some grumbled conversation from the master bedroom.

"What is _that_?" Vilkas's voice.

"I saw it first!" Calder's retort.

"Yeah? Well you can have it… Over my dead body!"

"That can be arranged!"

"You won't get the best of me!" Vilkas's feral growl. I desperately hoped he would maintain control. Calder knew nothing of Hircine's gift, and now would not be a favorable circumstance for revealing it.

I heard fist make contact with body and rushed towards the back bedroom, gear clanking in my bag. Calder bellowed, and I detected rising anger in his voice. Another punch landed, and Calder grunted again. Vilkas was gaining the upper hand.

"Rragh!" Calder roared and I knew by the scrape of metal on metal that he had drawn some kind of weapon. I hurried into the room in time to see Calder, his back to me, raising an axe over his head.

"Calder!" I cried. Vilkas had no shield and no weapon. He threw up his arms and the blade shunted off his bracers with sparks and a clang. Calder started raising the weapon again.

"Calder, stop!" I yelled again. The man either didn't hear me or chose to ignore me as he continued raising his axe. I threw my bag to the ground. From the corner of my eye I saw its contents spill onto the floor. I grabbed a long vase by its lip from a shelf as I bounded towards Calder. He brought down the axe again before I reached him, but Vilkas pivoted to the side and avoided it. As Calder poised the axe once more I swung the vase upwards and smashed it into the base of Calder's skull. The pottery didn't crack, but something on Calder's head did. He toppled to the ground, his axe clattering beside him. After a bump like that he would be out for a while.

I collapsed onto the bed beside me, emotionally and physically exhausted. I dimly registered the shatter of the vase as it fell from my hand. Although I could barely think, I knew one thing: I was angry. Angry at Calder for attacking Vilkas. Angry at Vilkas for not dealing with him like an adult in the first place.

"Taryn," Vilkas began apologetically. He knew I was upset.

"No," I replied tiredly. "Just get him out of here."

I closed my eyes and listened as Vilkas dragged Calder into the room across from ours. I heard him lumber down the stairs. He realized I wanted to be alone now. I stripped off my traveling clothes—simple boots, tunic, and breeches—and did the best I could to wipe away the grime and grit of the road from my body with the water we kept in a bowl in the corner. I cleaned my fingernails, ears, arms, and legs. My hair would just have to wait.

I flopped back onto the bed and lay on my stomach, not bothering to undertake the search for clean clothes. I was dozing when I heard the door open.

"Stew's ready." A few heavy footsteps. Then quiet. A rustle of fabric. More footsteps. Then weight beside me on the mattress.

I turned my face to Vilkas and opened my eyes to see him sitting on the edge of the bed holding my Dark Brotherhood armor in his lap. He must have picked it up from the floor. I hadn't cleaned up the mess I had made when I threw my bag on the ground.

"You know I don't really like you working for these people," Vilkas rumbled. "Gives me the creeps."

"You know I don't really like you participating in fights to the death with our housecarl," I mumbled sleepily. "And _these people_ pay good coin."

"Look there was this drum—" Vilkas began.

"I don't want to know," I said. "Besides we've had that for months."

"I'm sorry," Vilkas whispered as he put a hand in my hair.

"It's dirty," I breathed, closing my eyes and enjoying the pressure of his touch.

"I'm sorry," he said again and moved his hand down to my back. He slid it across my skin gently. His hand was rough and warm. He had taken off his gloves and bracers.

"You know you aren't dressed, don't you?" Vilkas laughed quietly.

"Of course," I smiled, still resting my eyes. "The rule is 'fight dirty, eat clean' not 'fight naked, eat dressed,' right?"

Vilkas burst into bellows of laughter, and I felt warmth trickle through my veins.

"I hate that rule," he chuckled as he dropped the armor to the ground and lay on his side next to me.

"I know you hate it, wolf-man," I breathed as reached my hand behind his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. My hand felt so tiny as I brushed my thumb along his jaw. I was usually small in comparison with the Nords, or any other race for that matter, but when I was near Vilkas I felt even smaller. I liked that. He draped a bulky arm over my waist.

"It'll be a while before Calder wakes up," I whispered with a wink.

"After a hit like that I wouldn't be surprised if he never woke up," Vilkas grinned.

"Don't say that," I said as I rolled onto his chest. Clasping the sides of his face and digging my fingers into his hair, I pushed my lips against his bristly jaw and then to his mouth. "Where else would you expend all that boyish energy if not on the helpless housecarl?"

"You," Vilkas chuckled through a kiss. The stew would have to wait.


End file.
